I watch in horror as my father, clutching his chest, falls to the ground. Crimson spreads on his shirt, and I run to him. Guards of my father surround around us, pulling out their weapons. At that moment, though, nothing matters to me. Not that Ella knows Susan, that I am still forced to get married, and that my dad owns the company I work for. The only thing that matters is that my dad gasping for air.

“F-father!” I yelp. My mother seems to be in shock; she isn’t moving, no matter how much people shove her toward me and my father. “D-d-d-dad?”

“Son,” he breathes, grabbing a hold of my shirt. “You have to—“

“N-no. You’re not going to die!”

He shakes his head. “Stay… safe. You and Ella.”

“What?”

“Whatever you do… just remember... keep Ella safe. And yourself. That’s why I took the bullet instead of you. Or her.” My dad gasps again, his face full of pure agony. “T-the person who shot is—“

Another shot fires through the crowd. It grazes my arm, but I pay no attention to my minimal pain: my father’s is worse.

His hand drops from mine, and sirens wail in the distance. I try to convince myself otherwise, but I know there is nothing the hospital can do.

My father is dead.